Supreme Visions of Lonely Tunes
by APat96
Summary: Percy and Annabeth are best friends, but it hasn't always been that way. They used to date, back in the days of fighting monsters and going to camp. Now, though, they're there for each other, no matter what. But what boundaries are there, in this friendship? More importantly, what does being "there" for someone mean, exactly?
1. Chapter 1

The tequila went down rough, strong, bitter, burning. Acidic enough to burn a hole through his esophagus, and yet basic enough to numb any notion of emotion his mind dared to have. He loved it.

A single finger held up was word enough for a refill, the amber liquid nearly sloshing over the edges of his glass as the bartender held the bottle aloft. And then there was the shot, ready to be tossed back, daring him to take another.

Around him were others, in various stages of inebriation. No one special, rather, the opposite. Everyone there was standard—so much so, that he felt a little like an anthropologist just sitting there and watching all of them. If he was Jane Goodall, they were the chimps.

There were the standard coworkers—their shirtsleeves rolled up as their elbows were propped up on the edge of the bar—knocking back beers like wussies. Then again, they had to work tomorrow; there was no point in getting anything more than tipsy.

There were the frat boys, long past their days in college, and yet still chugging cheap beer. They, of course, wore variously colored striped polo shirts, the standard backwards baseball cap, and, of course, loose, baggy jeans.

Oh, but he couldn't forget the single women, nervously sipping colorful cocktails and eyeing the men with mild interest. Their outfits interested him. Not in any romantic way, rather, the desperately low-cut shirts, the winces they tried to hold back when a man overlooked them, the red lipstick they reapplied after every sip of their drink.

Percy turned as one of the frat boys put his cup down long enough to stagger off to the bathroom, nearly taking out everyone in his path. He sighed, shaking his head slightly, gripping the shot glass and knocking back the tequila.

_There_ it was. The familiar buzz, the burning of the liquid, the finger held up for one more. Another sigh as the party boy stumbled his way back out of the bathroom, a soggy piece of toilet paper glued to his heel.

Percy couldn't help but stare at the toilet paper—the faux pas of bathroom etiquette. It wasn't merely a stare, either. More a glare, directed towards the offending paper. How _dare _it cling to someone like that?

He pulled himself from his thoughts, swiping at his face and rubbing his burning eyelids. Sleep, although desperately needed, would prove no aid to the hangover he would have tomorrow.

His hand slipped to the bar, a stained, age-darkened slab of wood. What kind, he didn't know. The only knowledge he had about the surface came from the carved initials, the partial phone numbers, offering a 'good time', and the sticky, watermarked vinyl coating.

Percy felt a hand slide across his back, a delicate flutter of affection, and he turned as best he could, just in time for Annabeth to slip onto the stool next to him, throwing her coat over the back of the chair. She smiled at him, or, at least, he _thought_ it was a smile. The liquor shaded his vision nicely.

"Hey." He mumbled, turning back to his glass.

"Oh, just a sec, those douches have been eyeing me since I walked in. You would think I were a steak and they dogs! Hold on." She whispered, laughing, as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. She lingered there for a few moments.

"There." She said finally, satisfied, as the boys turned away, scowling and grumbling to themselves. "That should do it."

"Yeah. Whatever." Percy mumbled, attempting to get the attention of the bartender.

"Are you alright? You said upset." Her blonde eyebrows knit with concern.

"If you'd have seen what I saw today, you wouldn't exactly be cheery either."

"And what did you see?" She pushed.

"Let's just say it was a_ very_ elaborate sex position. Between my girlfriend and the electrician. You know, if I weren't so pissed, I might have even been impressed." He snorted.

"Shit." Annabeth said, shaking her head. "Lucy?" He nodded. "That sucks. You must want to kill the guy. Like, seriously maim him. Torture and all that." He gave her a blank stare. "With your girlfriend, too. The _hired help_. You trusted him. You were even gonna _pay _him! Like some sick, twisted male prostitute ring!" She exclaimed.

"Look, Annabeth, you're not—"

"You basically _hired _someone to have sex with your girlfriend! You must feel so guilty! Like, if you had just chosen someone else to fix the broken lamp, then—"

"Annabeth! Shut up!" He whisper-yelled, slamming his glass against the dirty counter.

She was silent for a moment, focusing her gaze ahead, before speaking again. "How much have you had to drink? You smell like Tijuana."

"None of your business." He grumbled. He hated to admit it, but her concern, slight as it was, came as a comfort. An ex doting on you was usually a good thing, especially when they were as hot as Annabeth. Then again, when they fought you like she did, it could always turn sour very quickly. But, then again, the drinks had long clouded his brain.

"Excuse me, sir, but could you tell me how many shots my friend's consumed tonight?" Annabeth smiled sweetly.

"Five, maybe? But he had a couple 'a beers before that." He answered, handing her a gin and tonic without a word. Percy snorted. Pretty girls always drank gin and tonics. It was a standard drink.

"Alright, that's it, buster." She swiped his glass, thereby disallowing any more alcohol to be drunk from it.

"Hey! What in Hades do you think you're—"

"No buts. You're drunk." Annabeth said, pushing her own drink away and tossing a fifty on the bar. She pulled her coat on and began to help Percy up, though he protested.

She grabbed his ear, laughing evilly as he was forced from his seat. She had always loved besting him in fights. She shoved his coat at him, waiting patiently for him to put it on.

"Come on, seaweed brain." She grabbed his hand and began the walk outside. "Leave your car, I'll give you a ride."

He ripped his hand from her grasp, turning away from her and walking in the other direction.

"I don't need your ride! I'm perfectly capable of walking!" He spat, but instantly knew that the slurred words were lies. He was seriously drunk.

He turned to run, making it all of two feet before tripping over the uneven sidewalk and crashing to the ground. Upon impact, he knew that his knee was gouged, and that his forehead would have a lump tomorrow.

Groaning, he rolled over, so that he faced upward, his vision planted on the sky as he brought a hand to his injured knee. And, mortifying as it was, he could feel tears spring to his eyes, prickling them. He took a deep, strangled breath and tried to sit up, but found that he couldn't.

"Percy?" Annabeth appeared over him, her face flushed with concern. "Gods, are you alright? Can you try to sit up?" She kneeled next to him, placing a protective hand on the back of his head, accompanying the one on his chest.

"Gods, your head is bleeding!" She lightly touched the cut he felt running along the side of his head.

With her face so close to his, the timing was perfect. She was there, he was there, it was perfect. He was single, she…well, she may or may not have had a boyfriend—he was too inebriated to tell.

It was then, at this moment, that he leaned forward, placing his lips against hers, enveloping her in a tight embrace that was reminiscent of their young childhood romance.

And the funny part? She actually kissed him back.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no smell when he woke up the next morning. That is, no smell compared to what would have usually been after such a night of drinking. And hey, he even had a plastic bag-lined garbage can next to his bed, in case of an upset stomach. Sweet.

Maybe he was just getting to be a cleaner drunk. Maybe he had set it all up the night before, preemptively. Or maybe, just _maybe_, someone else had set it up for him. Maybe someone else had cleaned his room, put an air freshener in, and tucked him into bed.

Sure, it _was_ plausible. But who could it be? Certainly not Lucy, who had taken off with the electrician. Certainly not his mother, who had no idea what consisted the inner workings of his personal life.

Rubbing his head and stretching until his back cracked, Percy stood, his feet shuffling on the carpet. He took a swig of the stale coffee that sat on his nightstand, coughing at the bitter flavor.

He scratched at his bare chest, adjusting his boxers and making way for the door. The door pushed open easily, and he was met with the bright light that flowed from the tall windows in his living room.

She was lying on the sofa, her arms raised above her head, her blonde curls spread everywhere. Her skirt had pulled up just enough that he could see the lacy froth of her panties, and her long, tan legs dangled off of the armrest. He longed for the days when he could have woken her up and had his way with her, right there, right then. He longed for the days when their relationship still existed.

Suddenly, she stirred, a light smile passing her face as she stretched, wiggling her hips and turning her head. Her eyes clicked open, squinting against the light.

"Morning." She whispered, turning her head to shield her eyes from the light. She pointed a lazy finger to the coffee table wordlessly. Percy bent at the waist and scooped up the aspirin, knocking them back with the cup of water. He sunk into the chair and sighed, tipping his head back.

"You should pull your skirt down." He muttered, his eyes closed.

"Why were you looking?" She teased back, yanking the hem down.

"I wasn't. Your skirt was just up." He retorted.

"You sure you don't want me?" She laughed, rolling over and opening her eyes.

"Not even in the slightest." He lied, meeting her gaze.

"Really?" She asked doubtfully, propping herself up on her elbows. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back, and the neckline of her shirt slouched just enough that he could see the top of her bra. She was beautiful.

"Not one bit."

"Your kiss last night says otherwise." She yawned.

Percy's cheeks lit up red, and he looked away, clearing his throat. Suddenly, the curtains seemed awfully interesting. Awfully interesting, indeed.

"So what? Maybe I do find you hot. What difference does that make?" He asked, still looking away.

"Not all that much, to tell the truth." She sat up, now, crossing her legs and pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail. She buttoned the top of her shirt, tucking her cleavage out of sight.

"Why?" He forced the syllable out of his mouth. His eyebrows crinkled, and, out of lack of better hand motion, he crossed his arms.

"Well, I mean, just because we broke up, doesn't mean you stopped being hot." She answered, matter-of-factly. "Though, watching you puke last night wasn't exactly the biggest turn-on of the century."

He was speechless, knowing it was true, and yet unable to admit it himself.

"You…you, uh…were always hotter than Lucy." He said finally, pinching himself because he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"Luuuccccccyyyyy…" She dragged out the name, as if trying to decide what to say. "Was a bitch." She decided finally.

"Well, I mean, up until this week, she wasn't so bad, was she?"

"Percy, honey, she threatened to kill me if I didn't stop being you friend." Annabeth laughed, waving her hand at the memory. "As if she could somehow outfight me!"

"No, seriously?" He asked, almost smiling. Almost.

"Yup." She replied with a grin. "I may or may not have put some booby traps in her purse, courtesy of the Stolls." She laughed.

Percy, this time, laughed with her, remembering how the ink had exploded in Lucy's face as she had opened her compact for the umpteenth time that night. He had spent the next hour or so holding her as she wept, holding back laughter at the newly minted, blueberryesque facial she sported.

The two laughed together, holding their ribs, even after the hilarity of the story had worn off. They just continued to laugh. Not long after, though, the laughter had died down, and the two sat there, refusing to make eye contact. The awkwardness blanketed the air.

"Why didn't we work out?" He asked finally, turning towards her somberly. "We found each other attractive, we had so much fun, we—"

"—Fought all the time." She interrupted, looking towards him with a sad expression. "We weren't meant for a serious relationship. Neither of us is very good at it." She looked down, adjusting her skirt and pulling the short hem down enough to cover her knees.

"We were good at _some_ things." He interjected, his eyebrows knitting.

"Not couple things. Not relationship stuff."

"The sex was good." He shrugged.

"It was." She agreed, looking off wistfully. "It definitely was."

They sat thinking, for a moment, each looking off in their respectful ways. The sun rose to a higher degree, and the clock chimed with a new hour. Neither moved to get up.

Finally, wordlessly, Percy rose, slipping into the kitchen and pulling two mugs down from the shelf. He turned on the coffee maker, grabbing the grounds from the refrigerator.

As he waited for the coffee to brew, he braced his hands on the edge of the counter, still lost in his thoughts. These were interrupted as he felt two arms wrap around his waist from the back, a finger dipping lazily into the waistband of his boxers. She peppered kisses up his bare back until reaching his shoulders, where she placed slow, lazy kisses into the crook of his neck.

"What…" He gasped, turning his head slightly. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you." She whispered into his neck. "I thought it was obvious."

He groaned, turning to face her, and she pressed into him, still kissing his neck and face.

"You…you said we…didn't work out…for a reason." He managed to say as she worked her way to his mouth, wrapping her long, lithe arms around his neck.

"Doesn't mean we can't have fun together." She whispered, pulling him closer.

That was good enough for him, at least at that moment, and he leaned in, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and hoisting her up onto the granite countertop. He kissed her deeper, harder, and tugged at the hem of her skirt, the top of her blouse.

Needless to say, the coffee was forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time he rolled out of bed to see what was taking her so long in the bathroom, and would she be up for some lunch, he found the apartment empty, devoid of all life other than him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he picked up the yellow sticky notes that had been stuck to the kitchen table. He lifted it to his eyes, his left hand trailing up his body to scratch the back of his head as he read.

_Had a nice time. Late for work._

_ Call you later,_

_ A._

Percy sighed, dropping the note into the trashcan as he shuffled back to his bedroom to get dressed. He should have figured—only workaholics like Annabeth would actually take shifts on a Saturday.

He pulled on his favorite pair of jeans, throwing on a simple blue t-shirt and slipping on his sneakers as he made his way out the door. He yawned, grappling for his wallet as he approached the hot dog vendor that was stationed mere feet away from his building. Now that's what you call convenience.

"Hey, Brian." Percy murmured as he neared the awning.

"The usual, Perce?" Brian grinned, already laying the dog in the bun and topping it with onions and mustard—just the way Percy had been eating it for years.

Percy dropped a handful of bills and change to the counter, accepting the hot food from the small Italian man's grasp.

Percy nodded his appreciation as he hunkered down, chewing while he walked. A petite blonde woman in a fuzzy pink tracksuit sneered her disdain at him from the other side of the sidewalk. He simply rolled his eyes back and continued on.

As he neared the park on 56th, he dropped the silver foil remains in a steel garbage bin, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

He passed by a small medical center—a nice one, with a garden where patients could sit out and enjoy the muggy New York air. With mild boredom, he peered inside the gated as he walked, spotting a familiar head on blonde ringlets half-covered by foliage. His eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head and continued on, passing several storefronts before reaching his final destination, Sal's flower shop.

"Hey, Percy!" Sal called out in a thick Russian accent. _"Rad tebya videt! _Nice to see you!"

"Hi, Sal." Percy half-smiled, giving the rotund man a slight wave.

"You want usual?" Sal inquired. "Lucy like long-stem roses? I have new in stock! I show you!"

"Uh, no, thanks…Sal, but…I'm looking for something…different. Nothing to fancy, just…casual."

"Ahh…I see! You have new girl! Bye-bye Lucy!" Sal chuckled, waving his hand casually. Percy's face flushed deep red. "I ring you up for daisies. Girls love daisies. Thirty five."

"Yeesh, the cost of pleasing a girl these days." Percy muttered as he handed Sal the bills.

"You pay ninety for the long-stemmed, I remind you!" Sal wagged his finger.

"Yeah, I did." Percy shook his head sheepishly as he headed for the door. "Speciba!" He called his thanks over his shoulder.

Percy looked up at the sky, noticing the clouds, large, gray tumbleweeds, float quickly over his head, ushering in the first of many thunderstorms they would be having over the summer. He shook his head, hurrying his pace and nearly trampling a maltipoo as he went.

As thunder cracked across the sky in a large boom, and the first of the drops began to fall, he sped up, clutching the bouquet close to himself, so that it would not get ruined. He passed by the medical center again, craning his neck to see the blonde woman again, but all the patients had been moved inside; there was no one left in the little garden.

Big, fat drops began to fall, now, soaking through his clothing and biting his skin as if they had razor-sharp teeth. He ducked his head, sprinting past Brian's cart—the lucky guy; he was under an umbrella—and up the steps to his building.

The heavy wooden door slammed behind him, and he sighed, peeling the bouquet away from his chest and trying to fluff up the few crumpled petals. He swiped the water from his brow, hurrying up the stairs to the squeak of his wet sneakers. Great. They were sure to be ruined by the water.

Percy pulled his keys from his pocket, fumbling around until he found the correct one. The door pulled open easily, and he once again found himself in the safety and comfort of his own apartment, where he was, fortunately, allowed to remove the wet clothing that irritated his skin.

He hadn't even turned from the door before his shirt was halfway over his head, and a raspy voice called out from behind him.

"Nice abs." She cackled, and he heard the sound of a newspaper crinkling.

He pulled the shirt all the way over his head, whipping around to face the stranger. It was Annabeth, sitting with a smirk on her face and the New York Times in her hand.

"You…how? Why…what?" He asked, startled, and ran a hand through his wet hair.

"Well," she said, pulling a key from her pocket and sliding it across the kitchen table, "Maybe you should think twice about leaving your spare key under your doormat. Especially in a place like the city."

His face flushed red, his mouth agape, as he stood there, uncomfortable in the silence. She craned her neck around him, noticing the daisies on the table by the door.

"Who're the flowers for?" she asked, giving him a playful grin.

"Oh…I…uh…here!" He exclaimed finally, thrusting the half-wilted bouquet at her. She laughed, and his face flushed even more, embarrassment stinging his eyes as he looked towards the floor.

"C'mere." She beckoned him, rising from the table and grasping his face in her hands and kissing him passionately on the lips. He brought his hands to her hips hesitantly, and she grinned against his lips, pulling away only after a long time had passed.

"Dude, you're soaked." She smirked, taking in his wet hair and clothes. He nodded, looking bashfully down at his dripping jeans. "You go ahead and change into something comfortable. I'll wait right here." She smiled, resuming her seat and holding up the daisies in a fan around her face as she inhaled.

The last visual Percy got before he round the corner was of her smiling behind the delicate white flowers, just waiting for his return. He didn't know what this feeling was, coming over him just now. How could he be falling for her? For his friend…with benefits? Was that what they were? There were too many questions to be asked and not enough answers.

His head swimming, Percy threw on warm, dry clothes, shaking his head as he went to rejoin her in the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

She was radiating heat. He could feel it, rolling off of her in waves. They were that close. Close enough for him to smell her fruity perfume, close enough to see the flecks of blue in her steel gray eyes, close enough to see the slight streak of gray in her otherwise bleach blonde hair.

Her head was tilted back against the plump, silky pillows, her hair a fan that framed her delicate face. She looked up at him with a half-lidded gaze that radiated peace and pure indulgence. He removed himself from the kiss, his eyebrows furrowing as his mind raced.

"What?" She murmured, smirking. "Am I really that bad a kisser?"

"No." He answered, looking away for a moment. "I…I just…well, it…it's nothing." He said finally, leaning back in to kiss her.

She ducked her head out of the way, pushing him off of her and shooting up in bed. In mere seconds she was sitting upright, smoothing her hair and shooting him an evil glare.

"What?" She demanded. "Tell me."

His mouth agape, he scrambled to sit up, running a hand through his hair.

"I…well, I mean…"

"Percy!" She laughed exasperatedly. "Spit. It. Out!"

"I want to know what we are." He muttered, glancing away. "What _this_ is. What…what I should call you."

With that, Annabeth sighed, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. She stayed still for a moment, and it was so quiet that Percy began to wonder if she were still alive. Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the silky pillows, so that his head was level with Annabeth's. His face was inches from hers. He could hear her breath, light and rhythmic, as her chest rose and fell with each passing second.

"You," She began quietly, turning her head so that she faced Percy, "Should call me 'Annabeth'. That's it. That's all we are. That's all we've ever been. Percy and Annabeth. Now and forever."

Now it was his turn to jolt up in bed. His eyebrows furrowed with a mixture of anger and confusion.

"Somehow, _'I now pronounce you Percy and Annabeth'_ doesn't have a nice ring, does it?" He seethed. "You can't just say we're friends! Friends don't hook up, or spend the night, or leave toothbrushes at each other's places, or—"

"Dammit, Percy!" She cried, leaping from the bed and storming towards the door. "I told you not to get attached! I told you I wasn't ready for a relationship! I told you all I wanted was something casual!"

"See, Annabeth, that's your problem!" He spat, taking a step forward. "It's always about _you! _It's always about what _you _want, isn't it?"

"Percy!"

"All I want to know is what we are! Are we friends with benefits, are we casually dating, are you just using me?" He demanded, his fists grasping at his jet-black hair in frustration. "What is it?"

"I…I just…" She searched for words, staring up at the ceiling as if begging the Gods to grant her with the right words to say.

"Well?"

"I…I need you to be there for me." She replied, her voice growing quieter.

"What does that even mean?" He cried, exasperated, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

"I need you!" She cried, balling her fists as she burst into tears. Instantly, his anger melted as he saw her wearied frame crumple against the door, wracked by sobs. He raced forward, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tightly. He could feel her warm, wet tears sinking through his shirt.

"I…I just…" She gasped in between sobs. "I _need _you!" She whispered.

"I know." He whispered back, rubbing her back soothingly. "I know."

She looked up at him; her delicate face decorated with streaks of tears and ruined mascara. Her cheeks radiated heat, and scarlet blotches decorated her cheeks and forehead. Her bloodshot eyes sat above deep, black rings, and it looked as if Annabeth hadn't slept in weeks.

Percy brought a tentative hand up to her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. His hand jerked away unnaturally at the obvious fever.

"Annabeth, you're burning up!" He gasped, taking her hand and leading her over to sit on the edge of the bed. "Are you feeling alright?"

This only brought on a new wave of tears, and her hands flew to her face as she crumpled inward. Percy immediately felt extreme waves of guilt wash over him. He wished he hadn't said anything.

"Ssshhhh." He tried to calm her. "It's alright. You're alright." He held her tight against his body.

"I…I'm…I'm not alright." She choked out, refusing to meet his eye. "I'm not."

"What's wrong?" He asked, fixing a concerned gaze on her. "You can tell me."

"No…I…I can't." She whispered. "I haven't told anybody yet! I can't" She exclaimed, her face crumpling once more.

"Annabeth, you can tell me." He reassured her. "Remember? We tell each other everything! No judgment, no fears, no—"

"—Tears." She finished, quietly. "I know."

"Look, Annabeth, whatever's bothering you, I'm sure it's minor! You'll get over it! I promise!"

She laughed, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her laughter continued, turning into deep chuckles, as her giggles shook her lithe frame. Percy smiled, too, looking down at her with fondness.

"I…" She bit her lip as she struggled to get ahold of her breath after laughing. "I'm sick." She finished, her eyes alight with laughter.

Percy's smile quickly dropped from his face, but, seeing panic quickly rise in her eyes, he struggled to put a grin back on, forcing the muscles of his mouth upward.

"I hope it's not catching." He smiled wearily. "Because if I get sick, I'm totally gonna blame you."

She smirked back, brushing a lock of blonde hair from her face as she scooted back on the bed, leaning back, her head resting on the pillows once more. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she stared up at the ceiling.

"Last I checked," She said, rolling the words as if every one had value, "You can't catch cancer."


	5. Chapter 5

"_What?!" _Percy asked, his voice cracking. His eyes widened, stinging horribly with tears.

"I have to go." She mumbled gruffly, leaping from the bed and jogging away, as if possessed by a demon. She refused to meet his eye.

"What? No…you…but…" He stuttered, stumbling from the bed and tripping over his own feet as he followed her to the door. By the time he got there, she already had her coat on and was fumbling with the doorknob.

"You can't go!" He exclaimed, grasping his head with both his hands in exasperation.

"And who says I can't?" She scoffed, still refusing to look him in the eye. Her tone was harsh, bitter, and yet she lingered, as if waiting for him to go on.

"I do." He whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I…please, please don't leave. We…we need to talk about this! We need—"

"_We_," She clarified, turning back towards the door, "Don't need anything. _I _however, need a nap, a latte, and shower. I have to go."

With that, she had pulled to door open and nearly had it shut, if not for Percy's hand being in the way. She looked back, wincing, but faced forward and continued on.

Percy recoiled, grasping his injured hand, and muttered a swear. He pushed the slightly ajar door open with his foot and slammed it shut behind him before racing down the stairs.

At the curb, a mustard yellow taxi idled as Annabeth climbed in, grappling for the door to close behind her. Her hand grasped the cool metal, and she gave it a firm tug, expecting it to close with ease. The door, however, stayed put, unmoving.

Annabeth looked up to see Percy, wheezing and shaking, holding the door from closing. He appeared to be attempting to form words, and yet he said nothing.

"Hey!" The taxi driver exclaimed gruffly. "Get outta 'ere! Yeah, you, step back right now, or—"

"I can handle it." Annabeth interrupted quietly. The taxi driver let out a huff and faced forward once more, muttering that the meter was running.

"Percy." She said, turning back towards him. "You need to let go, now."

"But—"

"No." She interrupted. "You need to go. I'm fine, really. And I'll be fine. I made a mistake telling you. I really don't need any help. I'm fine. Really." She assured him, matter-of-factly, as she yanked the door from his grasp.

He let the cool metal slip from his hand, and stood at the curb, dumbfounded, as the taxi zipped out of sight. Then, as if in a zombie state, he slipped back up the stairs, into the apartment, and collapsed on the coach.

She, Annabeth, the girl who had helped him through numerous breakups, hangovers, dilemmas, and near-death scenarios, now refused to be helped herself. Ironic, wasn't it? So damn ironic.

Percy tilted his head back against the wall and let out a frustrated yell, gritting his teeth. His upstairs neighbor, a grouchy old woman he had decided to call Beatrice, banged in displeasure, and the ceiling shook. Percy disregarded it, and continued to scream, releasing his frustration, until his screams dissolved into laughter, and he shook in what could only be defined as the epitome of hysteria.

He laughed because Lucy had cheated on him. He laughed because alcohol did nothing to numb the pain. He laughed because he wasn't allowed to be happy. He laughed because Annabeth had cancer. He laughed because he didn't know what else to do.

The thumping on the ceiling finally died out, and he was left there, sitting on the couch, laughing compulsively. That is, until he wasn't. Until he was still. Until he was quiet, and just simply lying there, feeling sorry for himself. Until bile rose in his throat and made him feel sick. Until he could no longer tolerate just sitting there.

He leapt from the couch, throwing his sneakers on and grabbing a jacket as he went. He took down the stairs with little trouble, the yellowing tile sliding expertly under his feet.

The brisk autumn air felt good, welcome, against his flushed cheeks, and the gray, cracked pavement solid, whole underneath his feet. He relished the stability. So much so, in fact, that he craved more. He quickened his pace, bringing himself to a sprint, so that the only thing he could hear was the thumping of his sneakers on the pavement and the blood rushing through his ears.

He reached the building in twenty minutes, flat, and stood on the stoop, wheezing and brushing chunks of black hair away from his face. He pulled the large, assuming door open, and took the inner stairs two by two until he reached the top. The studio, which was situated at the top, had its own rooftop garden with prized rosebushes and award-winning solar panels that were considered modern engineering marvels.

Percy, however, wasn't there to admire panels. He brushed past the apartment, climbing the narrow, metal staircase to get to the rooftop. Halfway up the stairs, he could hear music playing.

The sun was beginning to set at the very edge of the brick wall, and the clean, blue Adirondack faced towards it, blonde curls spilling over the back. An unassuming plastic table held a drinking glass and a boom box.

_ "Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'." _She murmured with the song, her raspy, yet smooth voice carrying out over the tops of the buildings, _"Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me."_

Her voice reeked of anguish. The notes carried a warbled twang, and Percy could practically her the tears. He crept forward, idling quietly at the edge of her chair.

Annabeth turned towards him, sniffling, her face a blotchy mess of tears, and gave a small, weak smile. She grabbed for his hand, and he gave it willingly. She grasped it tightly in her own, tilting her head back against the wooden chair slats.

Percy sunk down next to her in silence, still holding her hand as they gazed out at the fiery sun setting over the Manhattan skyline. The song, and Mama Cass's smooth voice was coming to a close from the old, beaten-up boom box. Annabeth, her gazed fixed, parted her lips slightly, just barely whispering out the ending words to the song.

_"Dream a little dream of me."_


	6. Chapter 6

Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, her arms stretched above her head, and her hair was splayed out all over the pillow. Damn, she was gorgeous. Even asleep.

She turned her head sideways, groaning slightly, and her eyelids fluttered before opening. They met eyes, but she turned away, shying away from the bright sunlight streaming in from her windows.

"You were staring at me." She stated, in a dazed, confused murmur.

Percy thought about what to say. He could, of course, deny it, stating that he himself had just woken up. He could also use the opportunity to tease her by saying that it was her snoring that woke him up in the first place. He chose neither.

"Yes. Yes I was."

Annabeth flopped her head back to face him, and gave him a slight smile. Even with the dark circles under her eyes, she was still beautiful. She stretched, yawning with her mouth wide open as she pushed herself up on one elbow.

"You know, last night's emotionally charged activities deserves a nice, settling conclusion, don't cha think?" She smiled, pursing her lips as if in thought. "I'm thinking some nice, casual Monday morning makeup sex? You know? Triple-M?" She laughed.

Percy scanned her body, tempted by the idea. In the battle between his two heads, though, the one on top of his body won out, and he cleared his throat.

"You know, actually, I was thinking we could, uh…talk."

Annabeth sighed, turning away from him and slipping her legs from the bed. She padded over to her bureau, and picked up a hairbrush, examining it carefully.

"Percy, please. I'd really rather not." She said, running the brush through her curls.

"Look, all I'm proposing here is that we just exchange a little information, you know? I'd just like to be a little more informed."

She paused, setting the brush down, and sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking one leg underneath her. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before rolling her shoulders a few times, cracking her neck, and fixing him with a straight stare.

"Ask me anything." She invited. "I'm an open book."

"What…what type of…of cancer do you have?" He struggled to get out.

"Ovarian." She stated, never breaking eye contact. "Next."

"Survival rate?"

"Well, they caught it very early—stage two, noninvasive—so there's a 98% chance. It's one of the better types of cancer to get. The lesser of many evils, if you will."

"Treatable?"

"Yes. It's really only borderline cancerous. Most of these types of tumors get caught in the first stages. I, however, was an idiot and forewent a trip to the Gyno."

"What…what, uh treatment are you doing?"

"I…I uh…well, I mean…I…." She quickly broke eye contact, turning red.

"You're stuttering. Don't you have a plan? You always have a plan!" His eyes narrowed.

"Usual treatment," She began, taking a deep breath and looking up towards the ceiling to center herself, "is a oophorectomy—either complete or partial, depending on the woman's desire to have children."

"So…that means…?"

"It means I would have to cut out my ovaries."

"And this is a problem, because…?"

Annabeth took a deep, shaky breath, and looked back up at him.

"Because I'm pregnant."

With that, Percy slipped off the bed, crashing to the floor in a mass of flailing limbs. His hands grasped at the side of the bed, trying to pull himself up, and his head of disheveled black hair finally popped up.

"You're _what?!"_ He cried as hi lifted himself back onto the bed.

"Pregnant. Almost thirteen weeks." She stated, chewing her lower lip.

"That's…" He paused to do the mental math. "_Three months! _How could you not tell me?"

"I don't know!" She scoffed, running a hand through her hair. "Uh, maybe because I also have _cancer?_ Maybe because I knew you'd freak out like you just did?"

"So….So what?" He asked, growing quiet. "You can't cut out your ovaries because you're pregnant?"

"Well, uh, most women could, except for, uh…my tumor also has a chunk of fallopian tube in there. It's a massive tumor. Removing it is the only way to get rid of the cancer, before it gets tangled up in major organs and arteries, but…but doing so would be a shock to the system. The baby probably wouldn't survive."

"Wow." He whispered, rubbing his forehead. "I…I uh…I support…whatever you want to do. I…I think, though, that…that you should…get the surgery."

"What? Why should I kill my baby? Give me one good reason!" She exploded.

"Woah, Annabeth, come on, let's be reasonable. Your life if more important! It's more important that you come out of this healthy and…well, you can have other kids, later on down the road! _Planned_ kids!"

"You don't understand! I…I _want_ a baby! I want one so badly! And…and what if there's a mistake? What if they not only kill the baby, but then I also can't have any more kids after that? What about that?"

"Annabeth, really? You…you're always so…so level minded! What happened to practicality? I…I want a baby, too…one day, but I'd rather have my best friend!"

"Percy," She said quietly "Get out, now."

"Annabeth, we're _far_ from done here!" He protested, his eyebrows furrowing. "How could you—"

"Get out of my apartment, _now!_ Before I call the cops!" She screeched, rising from the bed and pointing vehemently at the door. Her tiny frame shook with anger, and tears poured down her cheeks.

"Fine." He said quietly, rising from the bed and grabbing his phone and keys off the bedside table.

Annabeth sank down against the wall, sobbing. Her body-wracked by tears-was shaking fiercely, and her face grew purplish-red from lack of oxygen. Tears flooded her face, falling like salty raindrops to the floor, and her anguished moans could be heard echoing off the walls of the apartment—guttural, wounded-animal noises, as if she were a beast.

Percy—who had, by now, collected his coat—paused at the door, throwing once last glance over his shoulder into the bedroom, where she sat convulsing in tears. His heart ached, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around, lift her up to the bed, and spend the rest of the day consoling her. Once again, though, his practical brain fought out his passionate heart, and he fought all primal urges, instead hanging his head and slipping through the front door. The heavy oak slammed shut behind him.

The tile steps slipped easily underneath his sneakers, and he made his way to the building's front in almost no time. Outside, traffic whizzed by, and pedestrians walked at a wide variety of speeds. Exhausted coated the air with a burnt-tire smell, and an array of languages, pitches, and sounds overwhelmed his eardrums.

Lifting his chin, Percy stepped forward, off the stoop, and joined the frenzy, slipping into the mass of pedestrians as if he were just another wolf joining the pack. And his heart, which had been on its last leg, just about keeled over with each monotonous, flavorless step.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud._

The tennis ball hit the wall in even, echoing beats. Ringo's drum beat in his ear drowned out the neighbor's discontent. The burning sensation of the vodka drowned out everything else.

As Percy chucked the ball again, watching it bounce back to him with vigor, he sighed, tilting his head back and cracking his neck.

His best friend had cancer. His best friend was pregnant. _He_ had gotten his best friend pregnant. _He _was in love with _her._

Percy clutched the ball, taking another swig from the bottle. He gagged, a little, recoiling at the oily burning sensation. He always was more of a tequila person.

Maybe, just maybe, they weren't supposed to be together. Maybe there was no happy medium. Hell, romance was clearly a bust, even when they were older. Friendship didn't work, either.

He sighed. Since when was the world so complicated?

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and, dropping the tennis ball, he pulled it out, thumbing to unlock the screen. He quickly removed his headphones.

"Hey, man, just calling to check up on you." Grover's voice rang through the device. Percy had never been so glad to hear the satyr before. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"I'm okay, buddy." Percy responded, sighing. "At least, I think I am."

"Uh oh. What's up?"

"Uhh…you know…Annabeth stuff."

"You didn't" Grover said flatly.

"Yeah. Yeah I did."

"Shit, man. Why?"

"It was supposed to be casual, you know? I…I was an idiot."

There was a long pause at the other end, and Percy began to worry that Grover had hung up on him. Finally, he could hear the satyr clear his throat and take a deep breath.

"What did you do?"

"I…well, she's…she's pregnant."

"Damn it, Percy!" Grover exclaimed. "How could you be so irresponsible?"

"Well, you know, that's easy for you to say! You've had a steady girlfriend for, like, nine years! Your relationship is a third grader! If Juniper got pregnant, then it would be no big deal. You'd just get married, and buy a house, and—"

"This isn't about me and Juniper! It's about _you_."

"I…I know."

"At least," Grover sighed, "At the very least, tell me you said you'd support her decision."

"I don't, though! That's the problem!"

"Look, I don't care what it is, Percy! If she wants to keep it, then I'm sure she's giving you an out! She's Annabeth, for gods' sake! And if she's getting rid of it, then you know what? You'll find someone else that wants to have your babies! So what the hades is the problem?"

"She has _cancer, _Grover. And she can't have health _and _the baby. She either dies, or she wishes she had."

"Shit." Came the simple reply.

"Yeah."

"I'm…I'm coming over. Tequila, right?"

"Drinking my way out of this doesn't seem to be a possibility, buddy."

"I'll bring the whiskey." He answered as he hung up.

Percy tilted his head back against the wall, emitting a deep sigh. He stuck his headphones back into his ears, turning the volume up as high as it would go. Lennon's voice never sounded so clear.

Soon, he was back to throwing the tennis ball. Harder, this time, and with more vigor. His eyes stung, and his brain, as riddled with alcohol as it was, thrummed madly. He bit his lip until he could taste the first coppery hints of blood.

The walls of his apartment seemed to vibrate with a pounding on the walls, as if someone were knocking ferociously. Stupid neighbors complaining about the noise.

He chucked the ball as hard as he could, knocking a picture clean off the wall. Glass shattered everywhere.

Only then did the tears come. His crying jag was brief and unpleasant. A few painful tears escaped his eyelids, and he pawed them away as quickly as they came. The rest were contained, though his heart felt empty and partial.

A sudden, throbbing knock at the door jolted him out of his head, and he sprinted towards the door. The sounds of shattering glass came soon after. Percy had never been so glad that Grover lived only a block away.

As soon as he opened the door, Percy regretted it. Grover's eyes were wide enough to scare even the most unshakeable. What's worse, he wasn't alone.

Reeking of whiskey, the hallway was occupied by both the satyr and Annabeth. She however, lay on the floor, pale as a ghost, in a puddle of her own blood. It was everywhere. Upon closer inspection, bloody claw marks littered the wooden door.

"Holy shit! What the hell?" Percy screamed, dropping to his knees. "Is she…is she—?"

"I…I don't know! I don't know! I…she was just laying here, and… I freaked! I dropped the booze!"

"We…we gotta get her inside!" Percy said, sliding his arms under Annabeth and lifting. Her skin was clammy and cold.

Nodding, silently, Grover stooped and lifted her legs, groaning as his arms became covered in blood. The two quickly set her on the couch, stepping back as if she were a bomb waiting to go off.

"What do we do?" Grover asked, swiping a metal picture frame from a nearby table and gnawing on it nervously.

"We…we ah, check for a pulse!" Percy yelled, his eyes lighting up. He quickly raced forward, jamming his two fingers underneath Annabeth's jaw. Besides his own heartbeat, which was thrumming madly, he felt a faint, unsteady pulse.

"Come on! Is…is she dead?" Grover asked quietly.

"No, man. She's alive." Percy responded, breathing a small sigh of relief. "But we gotta get her to a hospital. She's really not doing well."

Nodding, Grover sprinted, as fast as his hooves would carry him, to the phone. Percy heard him speak to the operator, but couldn't make out the words. All he could hear, really, was the sound of his blood whooshing through his ears. All else was lost.

He saw the front door burst open with the EMTs. He saw them load her up onto the stretcher and attach all sorts of tubes and wires to her. He saw her fingers briefly twitch in response to the cold metal. He saw Grover answer the paramedic's questions. He saw himself race after the men and hop into the ambulance at the last moment. He saw, but did not really see.

Soon, though, they had pulled up to the Hospital, and unloaded the stretcher. Annabeth had briefly regained consciousness, long enough to emit a loud moan, but had quickly lapsed back into sleep. Inside, the doctors whisked her away and swept Percy into the waiting room.

He sat there, in the waiting room, for a number of hours. He stopped the various nurses and hospital personnel that passed him, pressing them for what they knew. But they only saw the man that reeked of alcohol, and had dried blood caked on his knees. And they passed him by.

Tears threatened him, again, and he bit his lip, once more, hoping to flush the anger and hurt from his eyes.

"Are you Percy Jackson?" Came a voice, looming over him.

"Yes?" He answered, rising to his feet.

"Your friend is asking for you." She said, walking a few steps away before pausing and looking over her shoulder to beckon him. "Follow me."

"Is…is she…"

"She's fine. A little dazed, a little weak, but she'll be fine. We're keeping her for a night or two."

"And…and the…the baby?"

The doctor stopped walking for a moment, wheeling around to face Percy.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson. Ms. Chase suffered a miscarriage. The fetus did not survive."

"Oh." Percy's voice, for some reason, came out quieter than expected. His eyes stung unexpectedly, and he instinctively fixed his stare on the ground.

"Please, you'll want to talk to Ms. Chase. Follow me." The doctor's expression softened, and she gave him a small, pitying smile. Percy simply nodded, and followed her to the small room she led him to.

Inside, Annabeth lay in the nearest of the two cots. Her back faced the door, and the machines next to her thrummed and chimed periodically.

"Ms. Chase?" The doctor called quietly, knocking on the door lightly.

Annabeth lifted her head a little looking the two over. She sighed, leaning her head back against the pillow.

"Come in." She said, in little more than a whisper.

"Hey, Annabeth." Percy murmured with false enthusiasm. "How are you?"

"You smell drunk." She whispered hoarsely.

"You smell like a hospital." He joked, hoping to make her smile. She didn't.

"If you haven't heard already, there's no more baby to worry about." She whispered, her voice breaking. "I had a miscarriage."

"I know." He replied, his heart breaking as he did. He reached out, hesitantly, and brushed her arm. She recoiled from his touch.

"I got the tumor out, too. I just…I told them to take it out."

Percy nodded, brushing her hair back from her face. This time, she didn't pull away.

"So I don't need you worrying about me."

"Who, me? Worry?" He scoffed.

"Percy."

"Annabeth, you're okay, now. I know it's hard, but it will get better, I promise."

"No, it won't."

"What…what do you mean?"

"We can't be together." She said, her voice cracking. "You…I can't see you, anymore."

"Why?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "I…I lov—"

"Stop." She interrupted. "Stop, stop stop! Don't…don't say that!"

"But…"

"No. No. You…you break my heart, just seeing you. The thought of you…it hurts. It _physically_ hurts me. I can't be with you. We have to stop."

"Annabeth, please, we…we can get through this."

"Please." She whispered, tears falling freely down her face. "Please, please, please."

Nodding, silently, he stood, making for the door as tears of his own worked their way past his eyelids. He paused, looking over his shoulder at her frail, shaking body.

It was then, in that hospital room that he knew. He knew that it was an addiction. Being with her was as destructive as being without her. It was a harmful, destructive cycle that he was effortless in stopping. It was like a knife to the heart when it all falls apart.


	8. Chapter 8

The combination of the two—the surgery and the miscarriage, that is—dropped a good fifteen pounds off of her already thin frame. Whatever fat had covered her ribs was now disposed of, her cheekbones stood more pronounced than ever, and her arms were frail enough to see the curvature of the bone beneath the skin. The residual guilt over the horror added back the weight, though, sagging her shoulders and curving her spine in a way weight and old age never could.

Annabeth could still remember the minute the doctors told her semi-conscious self that the baby was just barely hanging on—that the tumor pressed down so hard on a blood vessel that it had skyrocketed her blood pressure, that the resulting bleeding was far too detrimental.

They had offered her two choices—have the surgery to remove the tumor, thus jeopardizing the survival of the fetus, or wait for the baby to get stronger and continue bleeding until she died.

She had continued sobbing until the very last second before she passed out from the anesthesia.

When she came to, the doctor spoke with the calm graveness of an undertaker, reciting with little trouble the array of medical terms used to tell someone politely that they had been unsuccessful in carrying a pregnancy to term.

The tears didn't come, even when he said that. The tears didn't come when she begged the doctor to retrieve Percy. The tears didn't even come when she saw him, standing in the doorway, his black hair disheveled—the way it always got after a long sword fighting practice at camp—the dried blood caked to the knees of his jeans, the smell of alcohol radiating off of him. No, the tears came, at last, when she ended it—ended their relationship, their future together; everything there ever was between them.

Only then the tears came.

Now, two months later, Annabeth sat at the very bar where it all began. The same stool she had sat on when Percy was drunk out of his mind, getting over some breakup, and she had decided, two seconds into their conversation, that she wanted him back—impending messy hangover and all.

Listening to the chatter around her, she nursed her gin and tonic, staring mutely down at her flat, almost hollow stomach. Where creased, rose-colored fabric clung to her thin waist should have been a round, pregnant stomach, just past the first trimester. She hadn't even felt a kick.

Sighing and blinking back tears, she lifted the cool glass to her mouth and knocked the rest of it back, swimming in the subsequent burn of alcohol racing down her throat.

She opened her eyes, glancing around.

The bar was crowded—more so than usual—and a band, albeit a small one, was even playing in the corner. Everywhere she looked, people milled around, chatting, embracing, laughing and living.

In the sea of diverse faces, one stood out, though. The jet-black hair startled her senses. She hadn't seen hair like that for a while. Two green eyes bore into her mind and panic erupted from her throat, pulling her from her seat and towards the back door with a slight yelp. She threw a twenty on the bar and ran.

The cool night air felt crisp on her dewy, heated skin, and she swallowed air like a greedy pig. Sinking down onto an empty, overturned wooden crate, she hugged her knees to her chest, taking breath after breath. Behind her, the door clicked open once more.

"Annabeth?" A familiar, concern-filled voice murmured.

"Yeah," She whispered back.

"Hey, I…uh, I haven't seen you in a while. Are you…I mean, are you okay?"

"I…I'm…" She choked, trying to force the words out before tears overwhelmed her. "I'm…fine. I'm fine."

Sighing, he plunked down next to her on the crate, rubbing her back soothingly.

"I know it's hard…I get it," He whispered. "These…these things just take time, I guess."

Annabeth took a shaky breath before lifting her head and wiping the snot and tears from her face. Percy leaned in, ignoring her red-rimmed eyes, and brushing back her blonde curls from her face.

Suddenly, the door burst open for a third time, and a scantily clad blonde woman leaned out, her breasts practically falling out of her dress.

"Perccccyyyyyy," She whined in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. "Come back inside." She hiccupped with a giggle.

Annabeth shifted away from him, letting his hand drop from her back to hang limply at his side. She rose, wiping the remainder of the tears from her eyes, and walked towards the honey-yellow light of the open door.

"_Time_, right?" She snorted, glaring at him. "Unbelievable." She slipped into the bar, out of sight.

Annabeth's head suddenly reeled as the alcohol and exhaustion set in—objects became blurred, the room began to spin, and she grasped the edge of the bar until her knuckled turned white. She fumbled for her phone and succeeded in pulling it out of her jeans pocket, but couldn't quite get a handle on dialing it. Sighing, she let it fall to the counter and stumbled over to where the bartender was, asking him as politely as she could manage for a cab.

Whether or not she returned home in a cab was uncertain, but Annabeth awoke the next morning, her wallet on the kitchen table—$20 lighter but otherwise still intact—and a hangover firmly in place. Her brain felt warmed with a sharp pain, and her stomach churned like the wheel on a riverboat. The bright light streaming in through the windows hurt like daggers in her eyes, and she emitted an audible groan.

The telephone rang—whether it was ten minutes or twenty after she had woken up, she had no idea—and pierced a hole through her skull. Moaning, she pulled herself up in bed and grasped the phone with a trembling, clammy hand, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" She croaked, rubbing her temple.

"Hi. This is Fred Noonan over at McLaren's," the thick Yankee accent drawled from the other end. "I have a cell phone that was left here last night, and your number was listed in the contacts under 'home'. You missing a phone by any chance?"

"_Shit._ Uh, sorry, I mean yeah, thanks, I must've forgot it," She winced back. "When do you open? I'll come pick it up."

"Ten minutes."

"Great. I'll be there," She hung up, cursing once more and forcing herself out of bed.

She threw on a loose blue t-shirt, sweatpants, and her most comfortable boots. Her stringy hair went up in a ponytail, hidden underneath a baseball cap, and dark black sunglasses went over her bloodshot, light-sensitive eyes. Toothpaste covered up the acrid taste of stale alcohol.

Sighing, and thanking her lucky stars that it was a Sunday, she took the stairs slowly, recoiling at the sunlight when she finally hit the street.

She walked the several blocks to McLaren's with relatively few stops to catch her breath or rub her temples, and she was there in fifteen minutes flat. It took nearly all of her body strength to push the heavy oak door open, but the dim lighting of the bar was all worth it to her bloodshot eyes. She sighed in relief, removing her sunglasses.

Annabeth scanned the room, taking in the sparse surroundings. The chairs were still stacked on the tables and, save the one patron sitting at the bar and the bartender himself—presumably Fred Noonan—no one was there. She sauntered up, sliding onto the stool next to the other person, whose head and face were well hidden behind a baseball cap and a well-placed elbow.

"You Annabeth?" The bartender asked, giving her a nod with his chin.

"Yep," She replied hoarsely, nodding grimly back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her cellphone, sliding it across the bar.

"I'd be more careful with this next time, if I were you," He smirked and went back to drying glasses.

"Yeah. Sure," She replied unenthusiastically. The man next to her snorted with laughter, and she turned towards him, giving him a dirty look.

"Something funny?" She demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"No, well, it's just…someone telling _Annabeth Chase_ to be careful," The man said, turning to reveal light-filled green eyes. "I just never thought I'd see the day."

"Percy?" Annabeth asked, confusion filling her voice. "What…why are you here?"

"My friend Fred over here mentioned you might come in this morning, and, well, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"To do what?" She asked, annoyance overwhelming her.

"Oh, you know…sit around drinking, me complaining about my terrible breakup, you telling me exactly what I've done wrong. The usual."

"And why should I?" She snapped, nostrils flaring. "Give me one good reason."

"I'm buying," He smirked, raising both and eyebrow and his glass, which sloshed with brown liquid.

"Fine," She sat, refusing to even look at him. "What're we drinking? Something strong, I hope. This hangover's a killer."

"Iced tea, actually," He laughed, sliding a twenty onto the bar as Fred filled an identical glass with brown liquid. "I need you sober."

Annabeth down a glass of tea the minute it was placed in front of her, sighing in relief at the cool sensation that quelled the majority of her headache.

"So?" She asked finally, breaking the silence. "This breakup of yours? Did Candy or whatever her name was not work out for you?"

"No—well, yes, actually. _Tammy_ was heartbroken," He laughed. "But I'm talking about my relationship before that."

Annabeth sighed, resisting the urge to punch him in the face for so blatantly shoving his successful love life in her face when she hadn't even _thought _about dating anyone after him.

"So? What happened?"

"Well…picture this: tall, blonde, smart, beautiful—_great _in the sack…" He whispered with contained laughter. "And we have this thing going on that's not so defined, you know?"

"I can't see where this can _possibly _go wrong," Annabeth muttered, taking a swig of tea.

"Yeah, anyway, so I really began to think she was the one, you know? I was falling _hard_," He smiled for a moment before clearing his throat. "But then…she got cancer. And, to top it all off, she was _pregnant_. With my kid. And Gods, I wanted her to live, so, so badly. But we both, you know, wanted a baby, too. And that…complicated things. But…in the end, she had a miscarriage and asked that we go our separate ways."

Annabeth sat in shocked silence for a moment, until his whisper pierced the air between them.

"I think that was the hardest thing anyone has ever asked me to do."

"And…" Annabeth choked back emotion, "You…you backed off?"

"Yeah," He whispered. "When the woman you love asks you to do something—even something you know will crush you like a ton of bricks—you do it."

"So then what happened?" She whispered back.

"Well, you know, we ran into each other—last night, actually—and I realized that carrying out something you know is poison—even if it's for someone you love—is just crazy. And if…if I had to live just one more moment without being with that girl, I think I would pull out all my hair and jump into the Atlantic."

"We…we can't have that, now, can we?" She attempted a smile.

"No, we can't," He nodded in solemn agreement. "So what do you think? Where did I mess up? Girl's point of view?"

"I think," she began, closing her eyes for a moment, "you should have kissed her. It's a rookie mistake."

"Really, now? Is it that simple?" He gave a half grin.

"Oh, totally. I mean, from what you're telling me, she's totally got the hots for you. Can't stop thinking about you. She _even_," She put her voice into a facetious whisper, "might be in _love_ with you."

"You think so?" He asked, now grinning completely. She nodded, concealing her grin. "Well," He sighed, shrugging his shoulders, "I guess there's really only one way to find out."

Percy leaned towards her, pulling her tightly into him, and kissed her more passionately than she had ever been kissed. Annabeth closed her eyes, feeling her heart thud against her chest, and grasped his face with both hands, relishing his salty smell and the faint feel of stubble on his chin.

He pulled back, finally, and stared at her intently with those brilliant green eyes of his, a chunk of ink-black hair falling over his forehead.

"I'm in love with you, Annabeth Chase," He grinned, grasping her tightly but comfortably by the shoulders. He looked nervous, for a moment, but that glimmer disappeared when she grinned back at him. He pulled her into a tight embrace, wrapping his strong arms around her and laughing with joy.

"Oh, seaweed brain," she murmured contently into his warm chest, "I love you too."


End file.
